


Mercy Unto The Faithful

by remarkable1



Category: Avengers (Comics), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Spirits, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asgard, Asgard (Marvel), Character Death, Curse Breaking, Curses, Devotion, Fictional Religion & Theology, Forgiveness, Gen, Goddess Frigga, Heavy Angst, Kindred Spirits, Magic, Magic-Users, Regret, Repentance, Sadness, Seasonal Spirits and Guardians, Spirits, Winter Spirits, Yuletide, mention of murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21877795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remarkable1/pseuds/remarkable1
Summary: Yuletide is no longer a time of joy. Rather, darkness has descended upon the House of Malfoy. Will the Patriarch find absolution in faith?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2
Collections: Enchanted Wonders Holiday Collection 2019





	Mercy Unto The Faithful

Pairing: Frigga/Lucius Malfoy  
Enchanted Item/Spell: Levicorpus  
Word Prompt: Eggnog

"Posset" is a type of old English eggnog.

This fic is written for Marvelously Magical's Enchanted Wonders 2019 Holiday Collection!

Lucius Malfoy swirled his goblet of posset, humming at the rich, if not savory, flavor as he sipped. "Ah, just the way Father used to make." Smacking his lips, he set it down on the edge of his desk and walked around it to resume his seat and bookwork. Pushing an antique set of spectacles up his nose, he pored over the weighty, dusty tomes, searching for any minute discrepancy. After a few hours, he tore off the glasses and gently flung them over the paperwork, hearing the Grandfather clock on the first-floor usher in another Yuletide.

Almost against his will, Lucius felt the familiar tears rise from deep within, and his hand strayed to a side drawer, the flames from the lone candle dancing shadows along the wall behind him.

His fingers shook as he slowly pulled it open, still not looking at it, fumbling until he pulled out the antique frame, only then daring his eyes a glimpse at the smiling trio before shoving it back inside and slamming the drawer shut once more.

"Oh, Frigga. What have I done to deserve this fate? Do not answer that," he chuckled morosely, reaching for the posset again, draining the goblet of its contents. Instead of summoning an elf for another, he reached further on for the Firewhisky, taking the crystal top off the decanter and drinking straight from the bottle.

Not even the sharp burn of the three-hundred-year-old aged liquor could set Lucius' throat to rasping. It was welcome; oh, how he longed to feel again. Anything other than this pitiful agony and self-torture, the loathing eating himself up inside.

Cursed. It was the only explanation. Lucius Malfoy, and everyone close to him, were cursed.

How else could it be that his Draco had died five years ago this Yuletide, a freak accident, a joke, a dare; wand turned on his own son, the Levicorpus somehow caught Draco's neck in the Chandelier, snapping it instantly.

Narcissa, rife with dragon pox as Abraxus had been, a virulent strain that robbed her of her beauty and strength. The illness lingered for nigh on a year before it claimed her the year before Draco, on Yuletide.

Lucius had dared to love again. Two weeks later, she was killed by a stray Avada, just one year ago. On Yuletide.

Worst of all was the object of the antique frame he'd pulled from the drawer. "Oh, Mother! What have I done to deserve this?" he moaned again, holding his head in both hands as the hour grew to three hours past midnight, and his brain grew foggy from drink and exhaustion.

"Mother," he moaned, the tears coming now, leaking onto the pages beneath him, smearing the meticulously copied sums. He cared not. How could he? Wealth, power: they were all insignificant in the face of two hundred years alone, decaying in the moldering estate with no one but a surly house elf to serve him, and only then sparingly and at great expense.

His love of money drove his life, as it had his Father's.

"Father," Lucius snarled softly, allowing the tears to fall unchecked, his breath evening out, small puffs of air pushing his fallen hair forward and back against a ruddy cheek.

Lucius felt the world tilting on its axis as he fell from his chair, slamming his head on the corner of his elegant desk, slumping to the floor in a pool of blood.

'At last, peace come unto me this night. My suffering is over.'

Consciousness left him, chest rising and falling no more, body cold and still, undiscovered for over a century.

\--

Surrounded by a bright white light, Lucius looked all around, shielding his eyes from the brilliance. "Hello?" he called out again and again.

He began walking, but he was neither here nor there, cold nor hot, or really, substantial at all. It was all very odd. A rainbow of light flashed ahead, and he followed it dutifully.

Coming upon a screen appearing to be made of a finely woven silk gossamer, his behind was urged into a comfortable, yet non-existent, armchair, and the various scenes of his life began to play out from his birth and ending in his death.

Detachment was an apt description. As if his life were someone elses', and the result no longer mattered, only shown to him as a mere curiosity, and he wondered if atonement was next on the agenda.

The screen went dark, light fading around him to a creepy purplish-gray twilight. His head cocked at a familiar sound. Running up to him were his two fine hounds, healthy as ever, licking and nipping and playing at his heels, but when he bent to pet them, they vanished.

A parade of loved ones strode into view, each passing through the nebulous gloom without recognition, fading as the dogs into oblivion.  


In what seemed to be the end of the procession, a beautiful woman in white approached him, her hair piled atop her head and artfully styled with jewels fit for a queen. She stopped and smiled at him, placing a hand on his forearm.

Lucius jerked away as if burned. This one was tangible. The only other being to acknowledge his existence in this no-man' s-land.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he fired at her, feeling as if he should be angry or impatient, but only receiving feelings of love and acceptance from her.

The Lady held out her hand. "Join me."

"Have I a choice?"

"You always have had free will, Lucius Malfoy. Join me. Or face your Fate summarily with the Norns."

"Frigga?" he gasped, grabbing at her hand now and blinking as she transported them to the most beautiful city he'd ever seen, a palace rising in the distance. The air was warm, and indeed, he felt truly free.

"It is I. You have prayed faithfully to me for seventy-five Midgardian years. I have appeared to you, to reward your devotion, despite the treacherous life you have led."

"I am not worthy, my Lady!" Lucius stuttered, falling to the soft ground upon his knees, uncaring that soil ground into the soft pants he wore.

"Rise. Your choice awaits. Serve me, and your crimes will be absolved, the curse lifted from your family name."

"I repent!" he sobbed out, doing as told but ugly crying as she led him towards a sheltered glen.

"Your tears are not needed in this place. You will serve me by joining your energy to the chain of the cosmos, such power almost unprecedented among your kind. Few have I seen gifted with such power. Your wife, Narcissa, was your equal. Draco, born under the sign of the dragon star, his mortal existence cut short by your heinous choice."

Lucius hid his face when they stood at a bower overlooking the glen. He simply could not face the people gathered there in the image of his family, and all of the lives he'd taken.

"Look them in the eye. Join hands with them. Share the source of your power with the cosmos. If your heart is indeed pure, repented of ugly mortal vice, your eternity will be spared among the chosen."

"Chosen for what?" he whispered, peeking out from between his fingertips.

"Chosen to guide those that have passed beyond, and help them to understand that death is not the end of one's journey, but the beginning. You have gained the wisdom your soul's contract demanded after five centuries of reincarnation. Your soul is weary, and wishes to rest.  


Do as you are bid, then rest, my devout, magical son of Midgard. It is well deserved."

Letting go of her hand, Lucius allowed his shaking hands to fall to his sides, straightening himself up and looking straight ahead into the eyes of his long-dead mother. His feet carried him, against his will, in her direction until he stood directly in front of her.

They studied one another, and she whispered out loud, "I forgive you."

"Mother!" he finally relented, rushing into her arms. "I am so, so sorry! Please, I never meant to kill you! Father said…"

"-And that is why your Father will never be Chosen. His destiny lies in Hel."

"I don't deserve this – you, any of you," he gestured, indicating each one of the people surrounding him: Narcissa, Draco, Severus Snape, so many others. Some were his brothers in black, others nameless faces he'd been responsible for killing or indirectly for their deaths. The sea of faces stretched back impossibly into the back of the glade, yet the boundary remained. Most curious.

"How do I make this right?"

"Join with us. Our family is bound to the House of Frigga, our Guardian of Light. Yuletide was never the bane of the curse, my son – it was our salvation. Only on this night could we pass unto this realm and be saved. Our souls will merge with hers when our work is finished. You, my wayward son, have much work yet to do."

"As a guide," he clarified.

"Yes," came Frigga's voice once more. "Let us begin."

\--

A star rose above Earth, then another and another, each pinprick of light dancing far across the cosmos, tiny flickering souls that gathered together and burned, hot and furious, the remaining followers of Frigga on Midgard felt it in their hearts, and they rejoiced in her name each Yuletide hence, until it was their turn to return home to her arms.


End file.
